


Singing Louder than the Fates

by 00QEros (Dassandre)



Series: Gods and Goddesses of the Small Death [3]
Category: James Bond (Craig movies)
Genre: Angst, Injury, M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-03-26
Updated: 2018-03-26
Packaged: 2019-04-08 06:44:05
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14099562
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Dassandre/pseuds/00QEros
Summary: Sometimes the hand holding yours is the only thing that connects you to the world.  But if the force of the one squeezing his right now was any indication, Q wasn’t just going to be connected to the world, he was damn well going to be bound to its very core.





	Singing Louder than the Fates

**Author's Note:**

  * For [springbok7](https://archiveofourown.org/users/springbok7/gifts), [Boffin1710](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Boffin1710/gifts), [AsheTarasovich (natalieashe)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/natalieashe/gifts).



> This has not been betaed or Brit-picked. I should be sleeping, but I had a horrible day and needed to write to get myself centered a bit. I'm only permitted to wallow until tomorrow ... well, today. Now that I look at the clock; it's 4 am London time. 
> 
> It's not perfect. Nor is it meant to be. 
> 
> Gifted to three dear friends whose support, advice, and cheerleading was so very needed.

 

**_As Clotho spun the thread of life from the distaff onto her spindle, she sang of the things that are._ **

 

Sometimes the hand holding yours is the only thing that connects you to the world.  But if the force of the one squeezing his right now was any indication, Q wasn’t just going to be connected to the world, he was damn well going to be bound to its very core.

He felt the pressure of course.  How could he not? He knew those hands well: the tenderness and the power.  He had experienced the euphoric pleasure and witnessed -- in person and by proxy -- the abject pain they could bring.

He was past feeling either right now.  

Wasn’t that vexing?

Q opened his eyes and, though his glasses seemed askew, realised just how many cracks there were in the ceiling above him.  Had they been there before? Sections of concrete were barely hanging on by their rebar supports. Dust fell all around him like salt from a shaker.  Shocking disrepair! He’d have to have a stern word with mainten-- wait. Was R crying?

She hadn’t been doing that a moment ago.  She was supposed to be … somewhere ... else.  With James. Yes?

 _Tell me what’s the matter_ , he wanted to ask, but the words wouldn’t form.  His throat was dry and his tongue felt swollen as he brushed it against his teeth to try to generate some moisture.  

The hand around his squeezed even tighter, something firm kept him from moving his head, his chest felt heavy, and his leg bloody well hurt.

 _Don’t try to speak, luv_ .   _Please, just stay_ **_still_ ** _.  Medical’s on its way,_ the voice belonging to the hand whispered, _pleaded_ really, in his ear.  

Low and resonant, Q decided it was a lovely song.

 

**_And whilst Lachesis measured the thread of life -- allotting to each mortal his or her just portion -- she sang of the things that were._ **

 

“Five minutes,” Q promised with a smile from inside the circle of Bond’s arms.  They were rarely this affectionate at work -- Professionalism! Professionalism!  Professionalism! -- but James had finally returned from a three-week mission through Central America where he tracked down and successfully dismantled a small splinter cell of Spectre operatives.  And with only R -- who knew everything there was to know about their not-so-secret relationship anyway -- in the observation booth as their sole witness, the men were willing to risk their private affections being publicly seen.

Q ignored James’ skeptical scowl and gestured at the window of the chemical explosives lab behind him.  “No really. Five minutes. Everything has been set up. It’s the final stage of testing, so all I need to do is go in and trigger the reaction.  It will take 15 seconds for the payload to ignite, which is plenty of time for me to join R. After that the sensors in the lab will record the data, but it will take at least eighteen hours for the system to compile it all for analysis, so --”

“I’ve got you for --”

“Eighteen hours.  Minimum,” Q whispered against James’ lips. “Plenty of time to enjoy a leisurely dinner together along with all the other things I’m sure you’ve cooked up to keep us … occupied.”

Whilst Q explained the situation, James had slipped his hands within the folds of his Quartermaster’s cardigan to rest on his hips and had managed to circumvent the cotton of Q’s button down, but even as he caressed the bare flesh beneath with the pad of his thumb, the look on James’ face remained doubtful.

“Fine, you distrustful, old wanker,” Q said with an annoyed huff that was anything but.  He pulled himself free of Bond’s arms and pushed his Double-O toward the observation booth.  “Go wait for me with R, and I’ll prove to you -- _five_ minutes.”  He held up his left hand and waggled his fingers to emphasise his point

“And if it’s six minutes?” James asked, looking at Q over his shoulder as he opened the door to the booth.

“It _won’t_ be.”

“When it’s been at _least_ six minutes,” James insisted, for he knew from long experience how often Q's tests and experiments timed out as they should, “I’ll demand recompense for the time lost at one hundred times the rate.”

“It’s a deal, but it won’t take six minutes.”  Q did so love that insidious grin that James only shared with him.

“I already have some brilliant ideas on how you can repay your debt.” James’s words were rushed as the door swung shut.

“Of that, I have no doubt,” Q said to himself as the automatic doors of the lab closed behind him.

His own voice was the last thing Q heard before the explosion sang in his ears seven seconds after it was triggered.

 

**_For lo! Whilst Aisa pulled forth her abhorred shears to cut the thread thus spun and measured by her sisters, she sang of the things that have not yet come to pass._ **

 

“Q?  Listen to me you little shite! You are not going to die at work!”  James snapped his fingers in front of Q’s face repeatedly until the focus in those green eyes came back once more.

“J’mes … wha’s ...”

Bond heard the ding of the service lift doors opening.  It was quickly followed by a rush of multiple orthotic shoe-clad feet against the floor and the rattle of a gurney being pushed quickly down the corridor.  James risked a glance at the door in time to see Dr. Emmaline Y’da and two of her triage nurses push their way past the debris and into the remains of the lab.

“You’re not going to die _because_ of work, either” James growled in his lover’s ear.  

“Not if I have any say in it,” Emma said, dropping to her knees to assess the Quartermaster’s condition with keen eyes before barking orders at her team.  “Talk to him, Bond,” she said as one of the nurses helped Y’da fit an extrication collar around Q’s neck while the third hooked Q up to the portable monitoring equipment and readied the backboard that they would eventually roll him onto. “Keep him awake.    

“You’re not getting out of dinner that easily.  Five minutes, you said. _Five_.  Well, we’re going on at least eight or nine now.” That they were officially the longest minutes of Bond’s life, he didn’t share with the man whose blood was seeping across the concrete-dusted floor beneath them.  “And I won’t even hear of you using this as an excuse to bow out of our holiday to Madeira next month,” he continued.

“I’m … ‘m … s’rry?”

“Don’t be sorry, Ethan.”  James tweaked Q’s nose -- something Ethan hated -- when he saw his eyes falling shut again.  The lids immediately snapped open.

“Ha’ tha … stoppit, y’ arse …”

They’d been together for years now, and James had known early on that he loved the stroppy, cantankerous, brilliant, devoted, loyal shite, but had only recently realised that he wanted -- no _needed_ \-- their relationship to be as permanent and fixed as they could possibly make it.  James had planned to propose half a dozen times in the two months since his return from that pear-shaped super-flu mission he’d shared with the DGSE, but each time he’d planned for the proposal, he’d been thwarted by a last-minute mission he was sent on or an unscheduled yet essential meeting Q was ordered to attend.

“BP’s dropping quickly, doc,” one of the nurses said from behind James.

“Can’t risk moving him until I get this bleed stabilised,” Y’da replied as she worked quickly on the deep gash that had split Q’s right thigh open.  Her voice was as calm as ever, but James could detect a tension within it that hadn’t been there before.

Q was dying.

James stiffened at the notion.

“I’m the arse?!” James chided, recovering quickly and gripping Q’s hand ever more tightly.

“Jam ...es …”  The look in Q’s eye.  In the moment before they closed, James could see that Q knew what was happening now.  That Ethan knew his fate.

No.  Not _this_ time.  Not _this_ man!

The beep of the heart monitor grew slower.  

“Who’s the one lazing about on the floor when he _should_ be sitting at a table at The Cinnamon Club enjoying a brilliant meal whilst I’m trying to propose marriage.”

The whine of the defibrillator charging ...

James was not going to lose _this_ shot at happiness!

He reached into his trouser pocket and pulled out the platinum band he had picked up from their flat -- hidden in an unused gym bag at the back of the wardrobe in the guest bedroom -- before heading in for his debrief.  James pressed it hurriedly between their palms and wrapped his other hand around the pair already clasped together.

“Stay _with_ me, Q!”

“ _Be_ with me.”

“ _Please_ , Ethan!”

Whether it was from the shock of cool metal against his skin or the penetrating need and want and love his fading consciousness heard in James’ unexpected words, the Quartermaster’s failing lungs gasped once more.

And the sound -- harsh and ragged, full of pain and promise -- was the sweetest song James had ever heard.

  


**Author's Note:**

> Comments and kudos are always appreciated, but comments would be particularly appreciated right now. Assuming you feel positive about this story, that is. Remember, this was supposed to be cathartic.


End file.
